


youth

by oakshields



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Idiots in Love, M/M, oblivious idiots, rated T for a lot of swearing and the worlds most minor drug use lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 22:03:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12219837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oakshields/pseuds/oakshields
Summary: Richie catches Eddie's eye and smiles at him, just for a second. Smiles at the boy who has his legs tucked up to his chest where he sits between Mike and Bill, wearing a sweater that's a size too big. Maybe two. He has it rolled up at the sleeves because his tiny wrists are drowning in it. Eddie smiles back, in that small way he does, like he doesn't want to let on that he actually tolerates Richie Tozier at all.





	youth

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i sat down and wrote this all in one go, it's 4am and i'm exhausted. i have proof read it once... 
> 
> so, this is sort of a blend of book and movie, as i thoroughly enjoy both. i took my own liberties with the story line a tad.. sorry SK. they've all but forgotten penny.
> 
> set in the same timeline as IT 2017 and i am obsessed with the bit where richie took eddie's face and made him look at him instead of penny like that gets me so good (: :) 
> 
> enjoy!

To a casual observer, someone on the outside, someone with no personal interest in the matter, Richie Tozier was a grade A asshole. If you watched him (just watched, never more), it wasn't hard to believe the boy with the overly large glasses was a complete and utter pain. It was unfathomable (especially to Mrs Johnston next door), why the boy had any friends at all. Yet there they were, there Richie was, out on the front lawn of his home dropping their bikes with a thud on the grass and screaming laughter.

  
Richie was loud, rude, too noisy and too insensitive and a bad egg. _He's a bad, bad egg!_ Mrs Johnston chastised to Mrs Tozier one morning in June, when Richie was about ten years old and already had mud on his knees before nine a.m. _He's all but traumatised my poor Harry!_

  
Mrs Tozier wasn't exactly _surprised_. Perhaps here, in this context, 'surprised' is not the correct choice of word. A more apt choice would be, 'shocked'. Mrs Tozier was not _shocked_ her son had annoyed someone, the boy had been doing that since he could talk. No, actually, she corrects that. Richie had been a pain even as a baby, when all he could do was crawl and pull cords out of plugs and throw things out of his high chair to make himself giggle. So yes, there was no _shock_ involved, rather, Mrs Tozier was _surprised_ her son had 'traumatised' someone. See, Mrs Tozier might think her son many things, but a bully? No. No, Richie was not a bully. As aforementioned, Richie was loud, rude, too noisy and too insensitive; but he wasn't _cruel_.

  
Perhaps Harry might just be a little sensitive, Mrs Tozier had said, which apparently was the wrong answer. Not that she'd realised there had been a question, mind you. Mrs Johnston yelled at her thoroughly, and by extension, Richie, for a solid ten minutes before Richie became impatient and too quiet and started pulling at the hem of his mothers skirt. 

_A bad egg._

It was a curious thing to be called. Richie never thought much about it, especially not when he was ten, but he supposes Mrs Johnston called him that because she thought he was rotten. Off. Like he was a bad smell that went up your nose and turned your stomach. Richie never thought that about himself, but maybe that's because he was a bit blind to it. Here, 'blind' means; oblivious to the truth. Unlike the literal use of the word, which Richie actually _did_ feel every time he took his glasses off. Blind as a bat. A bat! What a curious expression.

  
Maybe Richie was a bad egg, or an asshole, or a bad egg AND an asshole. Goodness, the possibilities were endless. Except, the way he viewed it, as long as he still had his friends; he would be okay. Let the world think what it wants, fuck it, fuck people, fuck the world, Richie had six people in the world who thought he was the bees knees and that's all that really matters. Bees knees, what another curious expression. Do bees have knees? Richie would be sure to ask Ben one day. Ben would be helpful, Ben was always helpful. Bill would maybe know too, or Bev. Maybe Mike. Stan would probably roll his eyes and Eddie would tell him to shut the fuck up. How _rude_. Still, Eddie definitely thought Richie was the bees knees. Even if it would take some mild torture to admit that.

  
Where were we? Right, yes, Richie Tozier. A complete and utter Trashmouth. A mean, nasty, awful, spiteful Loser. Completely incapable of any love or happiness. 

(Except, in our humble opinion, worthy of all the love and happiness in the world)

 

* * *

 

  
"You're messing it up!"

  
"I am _not_ messing it up."

  
"You are. We're going to fail and it's going to be all your fault."

  
"Can you shut the fuck up for like, two seconds?"

  
"Oh god, I can't fail this class. I'll have to be a sophomore again, and if I have to repeat then -"

  
"I'll fucking slap you. When have I _ever_ failed anything?"

  
That shut Eddie up. Finally. Praise Jesus. Lord, Amen. Richie had to thank the Big Guy more often. Actually, he should probably start praying full stop. He told his mom he still did except he was completely lying and she completely knew it and it was like a fun little game they had. _Oh boy, gee, Mom! Had such a good pray session last night!_

  
It was almost as fun as the game they had when Richie smoked cigarettes and drank bad beer in Bill's garage and he came home and said they'd studied all night. _Good job, Richie._ Always said with a smile. Almost as fun as that other game they had where they pretended Richie's dad didn't cheat on his mom. Another story, another time. 

"Alright," Eddie said finally, chewing on his corner of his thumb. _Dirty, Ed's! How dirty! Who knows where that finger has been._

 _((Why don't you ask your mom))_

"We probably won't fail."

Richie rolled his eyes. "Thanks, dipshit."

"But I still don't like this part." Eddie was leaning right over Richie, pressed up into his side like a needy cat. Like one of those cats that stalked around and fucking hated you but then when it was hungry suddenly wanted to be your best friend and loved the shit out of you. And actually, if we're sticking with the cat analogy, deep down it never really hated you at all and fucking loved you the whole stupid time but pretended it didn't care. Eddie the cat. Eddie the kitten. "Can we change this first sentence?"

  
Richie sighed, like a long suffering wife. "Fine."

  
Eddie's breath was hitting his cheek. It was weirdly cool, like he'd been chewing mints before he came over. Why did peppermints taste like the cold?

  
"Fine?" It was like Eddie _wanted_ the damn fight. Probably did.

  
"Fine. We can change that bit. But can you trust me?"

  
Eddie laughed and it washed over Richie like a wave. "When have I ever trusted you?"

  
The truth was, they laughed about it, but deep down there was some weird, twisted thing that sat between them that neither could ever put their finger on. See, the thing was, despite Richie being a dick and despite Eddie being constantly exasperated, Eddie sort of (completely) trusted Richie with every fibre of his being. Sometimes he had these dreams, which were like something out of a movie, that blurred around the edges and made no sense whatsoever. They sort of blended, changed, constantly changing, but all revolved around this centre theme of something out to kill them. All of them. His little group of Losers. Something they had to destroy, _together_. Eddie's constantly afraid in these dreams (we'll say, 'scared shitless' if we're being honest), and he wakes up sometimes drenched in sweat and reaching for an inhaler he knows he doesn't need anymore and there's something playing on the corner of his mind that he can't seem to shake. He'll forget about it, constantly, but then sometimes Richie smiles at him and it hits him like being hit in the face with a bat and Eddie remembers. Richie's protecting him. Always. Everywhere, every time. He's got his hands on Eddie's face when Eddie feels like he's about to die and Richie is holding him and talking to him and centres the core of his axis. _Look at me, Ed's, that's right, just me, just me._

  
There's a word. There's a word for how it makes Eddie feel. But he keeps it locked up in this little box inside his chest. A little box with a little key that will never see the light of day.

  
See, the Richie in his dreams is nothing like the Richie in Real Life. Richie in Real Life is annoying and frustrating and picks on Eddie constantly and no _way_ would Richie ever hold his face in his hands and slow down the hands of time. No, not slow it down, completely stop the fucking clock. So, you see, if you can sympathise with Eddie on this, it's easy to sometimes blur the lines when he's lying on Richie's bed playing Game Boy and he's got his legs thrown over Richie's thighs and when he completes a particularly hard level of Dr. Mario he'll turn to Richie to gloat and catches Richie staring at him with an expression that is fucking terrifying. Terrifying because its so _soft_. It's so soft and sincere and Richie's looking at Eddie like Eddie is the most wonderful thing he's ever seen and it's the Richie from his dreams. It's the Richie that would stop time and fight the monsters and protect him from anything and it makes it hard for Eddie to breathe.

  
Then it's over. Like the flash of a camera that blinds you momentarily, makes you blink once, twice, and when Eddie's done clearing the stars out his vision Richie is back to normal. Normal, Real Life Richie.

  
Little does Eddie know, Dream Richie and Real Life Richie have been the same person all along.

  
Little does Eddie know, Richie has a little box too. A little box with a big secret, kept locked inside his chest.

 

* * *

 

 

When they're in senior year, Stan gets a girlfriend. Fucking _Stan_ gets a girlfriend. How on earth - how dare he - how - how?!

  
It's a complete travesty. Richie has been bragging about nailing chicks since he was twelve (he has totally never nailed _anyone_ ) and Stan is the first one to _actually_ do it. The worst part is she's actually really nice and particularly nice to Stan and Stan becomes all happy and chirpy like a bird (he'd be happy with the bird comparison) and it makes Richie sick. How dare he be all loved up. How dare he.

  
"Whatever," Richie says one night, sitting on the floor of Bill's garage, rolling a joint like an absolute pro. One time he let Eddie roll the joints and he almost tackled him to the ground because it was so infuriating to watch. _You did tackle me to the ground_ , Eddie's voice helpfully supplies. Bill is actually the best at rolling but Richie is too proud to admit that. "I don't care if he's dating Cheryl, makes no difference to all the tail we're gonna get, am I right, boys?"

  
"The totally funny thing is, though, is that you totally care," Mike says, even though his face doesn't correspond with anything being _funny_.

  
Richie puts the joint between his lips, talks around it like a bad ventriloquist. "Okay, maybe I care a bit, but only cause I can't believe it's _Stan_."

  
Bill makes a non committal sort of noise from his spot on the beaten up couch they'd put in there last summer. It had been left out on the curb, just sitting there, like a beacon of shinning light that just called to the boys, screaming, _smoke drugs on me!_ What a magical moment it had been. Less magical when they had to carry it two blocks to Bill's house and Richie thought he was going to die. Not an over exaggeration. "I don't know," Bill says, "Muh-muh-maybe you're jealous."

"Jealous of _Stan_?"

  
Bill shrugs.

  
"Why on God's green earth would I be jealous of Stan?"

  
Bill shrugs again. Prick. "B-b-because he has someone who c-c-cares about him and you're jealous you d-d-don't."

  
Richie raises an eyebrow, lifting the lighter to his face so he can light the joint that's just been hanging there like a damn lollipop. He flicks the zippo twice before it catches, taking a deep inhale when it does, lets it fill him up like a balloon that's being stretched too tight. He breathes out when it becomes too much, when he feels like he's going to burst. "What, you don't care about me, Big Bill?"

  
Bill rolls his eyes and maybe smirks only slightly. He reaches his hand out for the joint and Richie obliges him, bending forward over his crossed legs. The floor is fucking uncomfortable. Not even the shitty excuse of a rug can stop the harsh cold of the concrete turning his ass numb. He would have taken the single arm chair by the wall but Bev was sprawled out across it on Ben's lap and completely not even listening to them and Mike was there before him already sitting on the couch and so was Bill and Eddie kicked up some fuss about how cold the floor was so Richie was a fucking gentlemen and let Eddie take the last spot. How does God repay him for being totally gallant? Turning his ass numb.

  
When Bill's blown the smoke out his lips, a content look starting to weasel its way onto his face, he passes to Eddie. Despite being seventeen and having sat in this exact spot doing this exact thing for almost the last year or so, Eddie still looks at any sort of smoking contraption like it's going to bite him. Cigarettes, joints, anything even slightly fun, Eddie gets all nervous like a little skitty bunny rabbit. When they first started smoking weed - the day that Richie practically sprinted to Bill's with the bag in his back pocket that Sally Peter's had given him between Math and Social Studies - Eddie had lectured them all about the effects of drugs for a good, solid hour. Shit, maybe it was more than an hour. It probably was, he was so _disappointed_. That's what he said, about a thousand times. Like he was their mom's. Eddie was totally a mom.

  
_Did you know, I'll tell you, did you know, my mom had a friend, somewhere in California, who did drugs and she got so addicted they had to lock her away in a crazy house. And, and, don't even get me started on your brain cells, did you know -_

  
Richie had shut him up by grabbing the boys smaller face in his hands, bringing his lips in so close Eddie was _convinced_ Richie was going to kiss him. His lips had parted, just slightly, in shock (or anticipation) and oh _shit_ what the _fuck, what the_ \- Richie blew the smoke from his lungs right into Eddie's face, right through his parted lips. Eddie had coughed from the shock of it and Richie had laughed, this crazy and beautiful sound and ran his thumb over Eddie's cheekbone before letting go.

  
The memory still makes Richie smile. Just a little bit.

  
Eddie smoked with them now, despite his constant wariness, but he admitted to Richie once (whilst completely high), that he loved it. He loved feeling weightless and empty, like he was floating. _Yeah Ed's,_ Richie had grinned at him, _it's like floating._

Eddie takes a small drag, not as big as Bill or Richie, and let's it settle in his lungs for a second shorter than he should. He doesn't cough, not anymore, but his face still scrunches up like he completely hates it as he passes it on to Mike.

  
Richie catches Eddie's eye and smiles at him, just for a second. Smiles at the boy who has his legs tucked up to his chest where he sits between Mike and Bill, wearing a sweater that's a size too big. Maybe two. He has it rolled up at the sleeves because his tiny wrists are drowning in it. Eddie smiles back, in that small way he does, like he doesn't want to let on that he actually tolerates Richie at all.

  
"You care about me, right Ed's?" Richie asks, aloud. Yeah, he's pretty sure he said that out loud.

  
Eddie's eyes narrow, but the smile he's wearing doesn't dim, it only flickers slightly. "I guess. When you're not being an ass."

  
Richie completely kills the moment, which is not a huge shock to anyone in the room. A moment is not truly dead until Richie Tozier has graced it with his touch. "Oh, oh why, my stars!" he croons, his best Southern belle Voice dripping like molasses off the tongue. "Oh, why, the Eddie boy, Mr Kaspbrak, I think he may be in love! With _me_ , of all people! Oh my, it's the darndest thing!"

  
"I fucking _hate_ you." Any trace of a smile on Eddie's face has absolutely vanished. Wiped clean.

  
Richie laughs. "No, Eddie, we just discussed it, you love me." He leans forward, so he's on his knees, leans forward far enough so his elbows rest on the edge of the couch right at Eddie's feet. "Oh please, Eddie, love me like Stan's girlfriend loves him. I'll write you sappy poetry, sing you love songs, I'll tell you I love you every second of every day and tell you you're the most beautiful girl in the world."

  
Eddie's scowl is particularly menacing. Well, no, it's not menacing at _all_ , but Eddie's trying his best. "Fuck. Off."

  
Richie grabs Eddie's bony knees, feels him flinch from the touch. "Don't be upset, Eddie Spaghetti, you know it breaks my heart to see you so blue. You're blue and I love you. See, poetry already! Shall I compare thee to a summers day? Thou art more lovely and -"

  
"That's enough, Richie," Bev cuts in, her voice commanding and sharp. She always has the ability to do that to Richie, to make him feel like he's just had ice water dumped over his head and snap him out of... whatever the hell it is he's doing. Bev sort of gets him, in a way the others don't. Like she see's right through him and his bullshit. He fucking hates it, but sort of fucking loves her.

  
Richie pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, offering Eddie a small, sheepish grin. He doesn't often do that. Normally he'd laugh it off. But it's the combination of Bev's face and Eddie's face and he _hates_ to think what Bill's face is doing so he doesn't look, that make him stop being a fucking dickhead for once. "Sorry, Eddie," he says, squeezing the smaller boys knees before letting go.

  
Eddie doesn't say anything, just stares at Richie for a fraction of a second before kicking his legs out in front of him and standing quickly. He almost manages to kick Richie right in the face. What a wasted opportunity.

  
"I'm going home," he says to the five pairs of eyes trained on him, straightening the sweater that was starting to slip off his right shoulder. Richie can only imagine how warm that spot of skin would be and that's a slightly alarming thought to have in public. Not that he doesn't already know how warm Eddie's skin can be. One time, when staying up way too late studying for a Math final on Eddie's bed together (well, Eddie was trying to study and Richie was trying to be as annoying as he possibly could), Eddie had eventually fallen asleep with a text book fallen carelessly on his chest. Richie watched him, just for a moment, and not in a weird sort of way, he'll attest. He felt his mouth go dry, drier than the time he was dared to eat powdered cinnamon and that time he really _did_ think he was going to die but somehow this was worse. Because this time, Eddie was asleep and Richie was touching the small part of skin that was showing between his jeans and the t-shirt that had ridden up on his stomach. His skin was so warm Richie felt burnt by it, but it was so soft it was like... he couldn't explain it to you. It's like what he imagined silk to feel like. The silk of the dresses women wore in movies. When Eddie had shifted, but not woken, Richie tore his hand back like he truly had been burnt. He felt so deeply, _deeply_ ashamed by it he thought it was going to suffocate him. So he pretended it didn't happen, convinced himself it was a mirage and there was nothing wrong with him. He was fine. Everything was fine.

  
"E-E-Eddie, don't go," Bill says and Eddie looks at him like that might actually do as Bill says. Eddie would probably jump off a cliff for Bill if he asked and that's always sort of annoyed Richie. Except, Richie would probably jump off a cliff for Bill too. So, Even Stevens.

  
Eddie shakes his head, his hair - which is longer and shaggier than it used to be - falling across his forehead. "It's okay, I'm pretty tired. I'll call you later."

  
Everyone mutters a goodbye, everyone except Richie, and the second Eddie is gone Richie claims the free spot on the couch, relieved for the comfort. Except, the comfort is somewhat short lived because Bill kicks him in the fucking leg as hard as he can.

  
"Dude! What the fuck!" Richie yells, shielding himself from any further attack. Although Bill looks like he wanted to just get one good kick in, that he's satisfied now. Richie doesn't trust the shifty bastard.

  
"You're s-s-such an ass!" Bill says.

  
"Man, seriously, not cool," Mike adds.

  
"Yeah, so not cool," Ben finishes.

  
Richie throws his hands up in defence because, seriously, what the fuck. Since when was he on trial? It's bloody unfair. Bloody rude. Some _friends_ he has.

  
"Richie," Bev says, her voice even and her gaze piercing. "Go after him."

  
"What, why?" Richie frowns. Bev's meant to be on his side.

  
"Richie," is all she says and he can't stand to look at her for another fucking second.

  
"Fine!" he yells, throwing his arms up in the air for the second time. "I'll go after him! God, bunch of whiners you are. Nobody can take a bloody joke." He stands, continuing to mutter as he kicks his shoes on from where he'd discarded them on the rug earlier. "All I wanted to do was get a little high, watch some MTV, eat some chips, but no, now I have to go chase after the fuckin' small one."

  
No one says another word to him as he exits Bill's garage with a slam of the door.

  
It's fucking cold for April, it sort of shocks Richie more than it should. He swears it wasn't this cold when he walked over earlier, but there's this stupid chill that sort of moving in ripples over the skin of Richie's arms and it makes him shiver in a way he hasn't since the end of January when the snow was finally starting to clear. He walks quickly, not letting his Chucks drag on the pavement as he heads in the direction Eddie would have just left in. He has no idea what he's going to say to Eddie, no idea what the others want him to apparently say. An apology? Well shit, Richie's not too great at those. He'll probably (definitely) just make it worse.

  
Richie doesn't intentionally mean to upset Eddie. If he's being honest, he'd sort of rather die than actually hurt Eddie, but that's sort of big secret that he wouldn't admit even under threat of death itself, so... The thing is, him and Eddie have always ripped on each other, and it's very rarely that Eddie gets genuinely upset and it never fails to make Richie feel like a dickhead. _A bad egg_. Rotten. He's pretty rotten in this moment, admittedly.

  
He catches sight of Eddie up ahead, his hands shoved in the front pockets on his jeans and walking as quick as those little legs will take him. Well, okay, maybe Eddie isn't as small as he used to be but Richie loves him small.

  
"Hey! Eddie, wait up!" he shouts, causing Eddie to almost trip over his own feet.

  
Richie jogs to catch up, not taking him more than five seconds. He offers Eddie a beaming smile when he reaches him, extending a hand to place on the boy's shoulder. "Boy, Ed's, you were walking so fast, didn't think I'd catch 'ya."

  
Eddie is _pissed_ off. Actually, it sort of makes Richie recoil, which is a first. "Fuck off Richie, I'm serious."

  
"C'mon, don't be like that, I came after you cause -"

  
"No, you're not listening, I'm actually being serious, I don't want to talk to you right now." Eddie starts to walk off, leaving Richie to gape like a fish out of water. It takes a second for his mind to connect with his legs, _start walking, dumbass._

  
"Eddie, stop."

  
Eddie doesn't.

  
"Eddie, _stop_." Richie reaches out to grab him again, firmer this time so he can't escape.

  
They stand beneath a street lamp, the ugly fluorescent light flickering across them and casting a spotlight on the otherwise dark street. Half of Eddie's face is dancing in shade and Richie wants to dance there, too.

  
"I'm _sorry_ ," Richie says, with enough sincerity that he can possibly muster. And the thing is, it's not like he's not being sincere, he just generally fucks these things up a lot and it's hard for him to ever be taken seriously. Eddie is clearly dubious, well no, we would say he's far more than dubious.

  
"No, you're not," he says, shrugging Richie's hand off his elbow. "You're an idiot Richie, I should be used to it by now."

  
_But I'm your idiot_ , is what Richie wants to say, but maybe not appropriate. Instead, he settles on, "Eddie, I am sorry. I wish I... could prove that to you but -"

  
"It's fine, whatever. I get it. You're sorry now, until I see you on Monday and you're making fun of me again within the first five seconds."

  
"I wasn't making fun of _you_ , I was just being stupid, like always."

  
Eddie sort of half laughs, except it comes out slightly breathless. "Sure, Rich. Whatever you say."

  
"No, like, I'm being serious. I know you're not - you're not _in love_ with me, that was just a joke and like, all that stuff about Stan and his girlfriend, of course I don't think _we_ , I mean - you get what I'm saying." Richie is babbling. He knows he is and he's finding it hard to stop.

  
"Richie..."

  
"'Cause that's obviously ridiculous. The girlfriend and boyfriend stuff. Is that what upset you? Was I being too weird? Like I get it, it was probably weird for me to say all that. I don't know."

  
"Rich -"

  
"I'm grasping at straws here, man. Because I feel slightly helpless, you're pretty upset with me and that just sucks, so bad, because -"

  
"Richie! Shut up!"

  
Richie does, for once in his life, because Eddie looks like he's going to have a fucking aneurysm. He's practically shaking, like one of those cartoon characters that has steam blowing out of their ears. Next he'll probably drop and anvil on Richie's head, and Richie will probably deserve it.

  
"Shut up," he says again, holding his hands out in front of them as if to stop Richie from coming any closer, not that Richie's even moved an inch this whole time. "I can't believe you, you're seriously that stupid?"

  
"Well -"

  
"No. That was rhetorical. Sort of. Fuck. I'm gonna kill you. I swear it Richie, one of these days I'm going to straight up murder you."

  
When Richie's nervous, he laughs. So he does.

  
"You laugh now, but then just wait, you won't see it coming and I'll be drowning your ass in the Quarry."

  
"I'd like to see you try."

  
The ghost of a smile plays across Eddie's lips. Maybe this is going to be okay. Except, it's probably not. Because Eddie sobers pretty quickly. "I thought you were making fun of me, because - because, I just, I assumed you knew. You'd figured it out."

  
"Figured what out?"

  
Eddie looks like he's going to start tearing his hair out. Richie really is sending the kid to an early grave. Or at least turning him prematurely grey, granted he hasn't pulled all his hair out by then.

  
"That I'm in love with you, you fuck head."

  
So, here's the thing. Richie isn't _great_ at handling anything sort of emotional. Or, anything sort of personal. It's the beauty of being a Trashmouth, you see, you can mask all emotions behind a Voice and a snarky comment and a bad (bad) joke and you can stop yourself from getting hurt. It's great! Mask all emotions with laughter, it works a treat. Like the time Richie had a bunny rabbit called Bailey when he was six and one day, when he was looking for Bailey in the bushes, his mom told him Bailey must have run away. _Oh_ , Richie had said, pushing his glasses up his nose and kicking his shoes into the grass. _Silly Bailey._ And that was that, Bye Bye Bailey, 'Catcha later! Truth was, Richie then ran up to his room and cried for two hours straight because he loved Bailey more than anything and he didn't think he'd ever get over it. He did, of course. In time. But as far as the world was concerned, little Richie Tozier couldn't care less.

  
So here he was, with Eddie Kaspbrak, the best person he'd ever known, better than Bailey the bunny rabbit, standing in front of him telling him that he was in love with him.

  
You can see why that may be hard for Richie to process. Especially considering his first thought was, _M_ _e? Why would Eddie be in love with me?_ It just didn't add up, you see. Eddie was the best person in the world, the absolute best and Richie was just... Richie. It didn't make sense! Eddie was smart and funny and sweet and kind and good and Richie was just... Richie. Eddie was sunshine and fucking rainbows and his skin was what silk must feel like and sometimes when he smiled Richie got this light feeling that bubbled up in his chest and swam around where that secret box was kept and Richie was just... Richie.

  
This just simply couldn't be right.

  
"No," Richie says. Which is an awful thing to say, really. _No_ , how stupid. Eddie instantly looked hurt, which Richie had to rectify, stat, but he's finding it so hard to make his mouth move. Good lord, he never thought that would be a trouble he'd be faced with.

  
"I get it," Eddie says, his voice impossibly small. "I know it's not... ideal. I wish I didn't feel this way."

  
Richie frowns.

  
"Because," Eddie continues, "I know it means losing you as a friend. I've tried so hard to keep it buried, because I didn't want to lose you but now I have and I just... that kills me, Rich. I was okay with being in love with you as long as I kept it a secret and now I've ruined everything and I just - I know it's awful and I know what people say... about people like me, but I can't _help_ it."

  
Richie can't find the words, they're lost somewhere in the back of his throat. Richie can't find the words so he acts instead.

  
He takes Eddie's face in his hands, his hands that are too big for Eddie's cheeks and he cradles him so gently, like china. But he knows Eddie won't break, he knows Eddie is tough as hell and nothing will make this boy crack. Regardless, he's never held anything so softly in his life. He brushes the hair from Eddie's forehead, runs a thumb above his eyebrow, moves it down until it's grazing his cheekbone, just like he did all those months ago. Under the light of the street lamp, Richie can make out the freckles, the ones that are darker in summer and fade to almost nothing in the winter time. God, Richie loves summer. Under the light of the street lamp, Richie can see the way Eddie's lips are taking in short drags of air, like he's reminding himself to breathe. His lips are small, gentle.

  
Under the light of the street lamp, Richie kisses Eddie for the first time.

  
For a second, just a second, Eddie freezes and Richie thinks perhaps this was all a mistake. Perhaps this was - no, okay, scratch that. Eddie presses himself into Richie, lifts himself up on the tips of his toes to meet Richie halfway and kisses back. Eddie Kaspbrak kisses _back_. Richie is so lost in this sensation he almost lifts Eddie off his feet. Eddie's hands are bunched in the material of Richie's jacket and Richie has one hand on Eddie's cheek and the other grasping at his jaw and even though his glasses bump against Eddie's brow and their noses don't match up quite right, it's the most perfect thing. It's the most perfect thing.

  
Richie smiles, he can't help it, smiles against Eddie's lips and feels Eddie smile back. That's how the kiss breaks, with their eyes closes and foreheads rested together, Richie unable to help himself from running a shaky hand through Eddie's hair.

  
"I don't know what to say," Eddie whispers, his voice trembling against Richie's skin.

  
"I think I fell in love with you when I was twelve," Richie says, unable to open his eyes just yet. "I think I knew I was in love with you when I was thirteen." He takes a breath, a deep one. "And I think I've wanted to tell you that since I was fourteen."

  
Eddie kisses him again, just quickly, as if he's unable to help himself. "Took you long enough."

  
"Well, yeah, I was too busy with your mom, obviously."

  
"Oh my _god_."

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> drop me a line if you liked! or if you didn't! x


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